


The Gods Between Us

by drinkginandkerosene



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Break Up, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 05:06:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkginandkerosene/pseuds/drinkginandkerosene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire had loved Enjolras first, and in hindsight, that may have been the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gods Between Us

When Grantaire left him, at first Enjolras felt nothing. 

There seemed to be a simple absence, not just within him, but around him. He noticed the missing things. The battered and chipped coffee mug was no longer in his sink. The tooth brush holder with only one toothbrush tucked inside it. There were no messages waiting for him on the steamed up bathroom mirror when he stepped from a scalding shower, trying to burn feeling into his skin, his being, because what kind of freak felt nothing when their life was in shards around their feet? 

His routine didn’t change that much. He got up in the morning without someone wrapping their arms around his slim waste and begging him for five more minutes. He brushed his long hair unhindered by fingers twirling the golden strands to make them even wilder. When he walked to his university, his playlists were songs only he selected. His meetings felt strangely ordered without catcalls coming from the back of the room, without the constant clinking of wine bottles. When he walked home in the blustery November weather, red scarf soaked through with rain, he warmed himself by a radiator, not a man. 

He wondered if this was like grief, maybe it was like denial, his brain not catching up with the physical absence of Grantaire. It certainly felt like that, like he was constantly waiting for a door to open, hands to massage his shoulders when he was awake far past midnight, a heavy body to join him on the bed. It never came. None of them. Enjolras found himself wondering for the first time if things did always work themselves out in the end. 

He called the number again. 

“Hello?” Enjolras didn’t answer, because the words he wished to release crashed in his throat, and their jagged edges from the wreck cut him wide open. There was a deep, grumbling sigh on the other end. “E, you can’t keep calling me. Stop doing this to yourself.” Enjolras wanted to ask exactly what he was doing to himself.   
He realised the next day, when all the pain that he had put off for two months, ripped into him as though it had talons and claws, as though each of his sins against Grantaire deserved a new wound. 

This is for when you screamed that you hated him on the walk home from his father’s party.

This is for when you said he was lazy for not getting out of bed before noon.

This is for pouring his brandy down the drains.

This is for the spikes of jealousy you got when he spoke to Jehan, and you weren’t quite sure which you were jealous of. 

If he was a braver man, he may have made the wounds visible, but Enjolras found that he was quite the coward. He couldn’t help but think of all the marks Grantaire’s mouth had made on him, how much he had whispered into the spaces between his ribs how perfect his skin was. He couldn’t ruin what had made Grantaire love him. Because it apparently wasn’t his personality. How could it be when in the last few months of ‘them’ he had pointed out every fault in Enjolras’ mind to the point where he must have been cataloguing them for weeks? 

Courfeyac tries to get him out of it, out of this grey mist that had pervaded his every thought and mood, painting his entire vision in dullness. He took him to a few bars, brown eyes anxious as Enjolras drank but ignored the advances he was given. Every boy Enjolras saw just reminded him of Grantaire. That one had big hands, perfect for wrapping around his slim waist. One had a tattoo like the ink Grantaire had snaking over his back. One’s curls were nothing compared to his.

He woke up in the bed alone the next day with the taste of cheap gin dry in his mouth and wondered if this is what Grantaire had felt the years before their inevitable relationship.  
Grantaire had moaned into his mouth that Enjolras was perfect, and maybe that was the problem. How could Enjolras ever compared to the golden god that Grantaire thought he was?

Enjolras had been a lot of things, and this was his second time being a disappointment. He somehow had been cocky enough to think, he’d never disappoint Grantaire. But it was always going to happen, like the leaves would fall off the trees and Enjolras would be alone. Because while Grantaire had discovered how ordinary Enjolras was, Enjolras had discovered how extraordinary his lover was.

He called the number again.

“Number no longer in service.”


End file.
